


Down Time

by Dizzojay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Sam Winchester, Sick Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 03:44:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dizzojay/pseuds/Dizzojay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys are recovering from 'flu and they both need some serious down time; Dean's determined to make the most of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

November is grey; November is miserable; November is heavy, damp and bone-chillingly cold.

The Winchester brothers had more reason than most to hate the month of November, but right now, sitting in a grotty cut-price motel room staring through a grime-frosted window at the freezing rain falling from charcoal grey skies, Sam had to admit it … notwithstanding the Winchesters' tragic past; November sucked ass.

xxxxx

Sam sat at a shabby wobbly-legged table and kneaded his forehead, closing his eyes as he felt his throbbing head begin to droop. The residue of a vicious 'flu bug that had assaulted his system over recent days was still loitering, leaving his whole body weakened and generally feeling like it had been put through a wringer.

He had felt increasingly crappy for a few days and remembered having a vague notion that he might be coming down with something, then … POW! The damn thing hit him like a freight train. Before he knew what was happening, he was a shivering, sneezing, feverish wreck; sleeping for hours on end, and then in times he was awake, feeling so utterly crap, he was inclined to wish he was still asleep.

Throughout it all, Dean had been there. A supportive, caring presence; quietly, without question or hesitation, doing what needed to be done. Remaining close at hand without hovering; nursing and nurturing his suffering brother without fuss or ceremony and all the while managing the job with the calm reassurance of an old hand and without turning it into a chick-flick.

However, nature had eventually taken its course and Sam was now slowly recovering. Unfortunately, the flip side of that turn of events was that the bastard bug had latched onto Dean with a vengeance and suddenly Sam found himself in the role of caregiver to a desperately sick brother.

He had been taking care of his sick and un-cooperative brother as best he could for a couple of days now, and as much as he wanted so much to return the devoted care he had received from the wheezing lump under the threadbare mustard-coloured comforter, physically he simply wasn't up to the job.

His aching limbs were turning every lethargic movement into a trial; every step felt like he was wading through cement, and if he didn't close his eyes soon …

xxxxx

His eyes snapped open to the sound of violent coughing. He glanced up at the clock, blinking to clear his vision, and realised an hour had passed since he closed his eyes.

Shifting upright from his uncomfortably slumped position, he groaned as his spine creaked and crackled in protest at having to move, and leaned heavily on the table to heave his useless diseased carcass into a standing position.

Stumbling stiff-legged across the room, he sat on the bed next to Dean, and placed a warm hand flat on his brother's convulsing back, gently rubbing to soothe the painful barking coughs that were racking Dean's hunched, fever-stricken body.

The coughing fit gradually subsided and Dean looked up at his brother through watery, bloodshot eyes, wiping his wet nose along his wrist.

"Water, bro?" Sam offered a glass, which Dean took shakily.

"Feel li' shit," he croaked, his voice barely a whisper as he lifted the glass to sore, chapped lips.

"You look it too," Sam smiled, still rubbing his brother's back through his sweat dampened T shirt.

"Your stupid fault," Dean croaked again, panting as his strained lungs struggled for breath, "caught this pile o crap off you."

"Quit moanin', and save your energy for getting better;" Sam took the water out of Dean's hand, placing it back on the nightstand and gently eased him back down into the bed. "you need to rest dude," he murmured.

Dean gave a long wet snuffle; "hate the 'flu." He turned onto his side and burrowed down into the sagging mattress, allowing Sam to pull the comforter up over him. Sam patted his shoulder; "get some sleep dude."

Shifting slightly, Dean let out a barely audible, rattling sigh and Sam realised that was it; his brother had drifted off into a much-needed healing sleep. He was on his own again.

Trudging back across the room, he poured himself a coffee and headed over to the window to sit once again at the little table.

He shivered.

The fact was, the damn room wasn't helping. The feeble heating only just managed to take the bite out of the damp chill which permeated it's depressing, mouldy space, and this just wasn't benefiting either of them in their slow recovery.

He examined his options. They could stay put in this damp, cold, craphole of a room; they could move on and try to find somewhere else more conducive to recovering from illness that didn't max out their one remaining credit card or they could go somewhere where they knew they would find a warm welcome, a helping hand and could stay as long as they needed.

xxxxx

Sam smiled as the phone picked up the other end.

"Sam," there was a smile in the familiar, gruff voice; "how ya doin' boy?"

"Not so good, Bobby," Sam replied, the hoarseness in his voice reinforcing his words, "we've both had the damn flu."

"Ah damnit, that's bad luck;" came the reply.

"Yeah, I'm just about getting' over it, but Dean's still in a real bad way; it's gone straight to his chest as usual."

"Ah, crap!"

Sam smiled, "that about sums it up."

"Look Bobby," he sighed; "I was thinkin'…"

He heard a chuckle on the end of the phone that suggested Bobby knew exactly what he was thinking.

"Yeah?"

"I was wonderin' if we could stay at your place for a few days," he asked.

There was a pause; "Sam, you know you're always welcome, both of you; it's just, the thing is…" Bobby began.

"Just until we get over this bug," pleaded Sam; "Bobby, Dean's real bad and this damn room's as damp as a troll's ass;" he sighed, " he'll end up with pneumonia if we stay here."

There was a long intake of breath on the other end of the phone; "what I was about to say, Sam, was that ya know ya both always welcome at my place any time ya like, ya don't have to ask." He paused before continuing, "the only thing is, I ain't there at the moment."

Sam wilted as he saw his plan of a friendly pair of hands helping him with Dean's care vanish before his eyes.

"I'm in Vermont, workin' a werewolf case," Bobby continued apologetically, "won't be comin' back until after the full moon next week."

"Thanks Bobby," Sam tried not to let his disappointment colour his voice; "that's okay, appreciate you letting us stay, anyway."

"I ain't there but my niece, Diana, is stayin' at my place while I'm away," Bobby stated.

"Sam's ears pricked up; "niece?"

"Yeah," Bobby replied, "she's a nursin' student an' she's on a sabbatical studying for her next round of exams at the moment, so she offered to come over and look after Rumsfeldt for me for a few days while I was away."

"Niece?" Sam repeated, still not quite recovering from the bombshell that Bobby had such a relative.

"Yeah, niece," Bobby confirmed with an exasperated sigh, "jeez boy, ya gone deaf?"

"You never mentioned her before," Sam observed.

"I don't talk about her or introduce her to the huntin' fraternity, I wanna keep her safe, an' well away from all that sort of crap." Bobby answered, "as far as she's concerned, I'm a freelance lecturer in metaphysics and folkloristics, and that's why I've got a house full of weirdo books and I travel a lot."

Nodding down the phone, Sam could see the sense in that logic.

"But, I reckon there ain't no secrets between me an' you boys now," Bobby added; "so you may as well meet her."

"Well, if you're sure she won't mind us descending on her;" Sam smiled, "I think it'll be better for Dean."

Bobby laughed, "I'm sure she'll enjoy the company, an' appreciate havin' a sick patient to practice on!"

"I'm sure the sick patient'll appreciate it too," Sam grinned.

"Oh, an' by the way," Bobby added before hanging up, "she's twenty one and pretty, an' if I find your brother has tried to have his wicked way with her, I'm gonna go after him with my bolt cutters."

Sam cringed at the thought of Dean singing castrato for the rest of his life.

Putting his phone down, Sam turned to the look at the unmoving lump that was his brother.

xxxxx

A pretty, twenty one year old trainee nurse and a sick brother; Sam began to seriously question the wisdom of his decision.

xxxxx

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

Sam knelt down beside the bed and gently shook his brother awake.

"Hey dude?"

There was a wet snort, followed by a groan; "Gnuh … wha?"

"You up to getting up and going for a drive, bro'?"

Dean squinted briefly at Sam as if he were speaking Japanese, then rolled back over onto his belly; ""mmmm…g'way". He nestled back down into the bed and tried to tug the blanket out of Sam's hand.

Sam sighed and tried again. "We're gettin' out of this skeevy dump and goin' to Bobby's, we'll be a lot more comfortable there."

Dean rolled half over and fought to open his tired, glassy eyes to glare at his brother, failing parlously. Blinking, he tried to focus his hazy vision but gave up, closing his eyes with a sigh.

"Don' wanna move, ev'rything hur's," he moaned.

Sam patted his shoulder, "C'mon dude, work with me here; Bobby's place is warm and dry and we can stay there as long as we need;" he hesitated to see if he was making any headway; the signs weren't encouraging. He continued, regardless; "we'd have to check out of this place tomorrow, 'cos those two cards I applied for haven't turned up yet an' we're seriously low on funds bro', the only place we'd be able to afford is somewhere worse than this dive or a park bench."

Dean laboriously heaved himself up into something resembling a sitting position, panting deeply at the effort and grimacing as a dewdrop dripped off the end of his nose.

Sam moved in for the kill; "plus Bobby's niece is staying at his place, you'll have someone far prettier than me to look after you."

Sam never knew it was possible for a person's ears to prick up, but he smiled watching Dean's brow furrow in thought as he processed Sam's words in his addled mind.

Eventually Dean spoke; "I din't know Bobby had a niece!"

"Apparently so;" Sam replied, "she's pretty, so I'm told."

"She ain't got a beard?"

"No - no beard."

Dean looked up at his brother; "help me get dressed then, bitch."

Xxxxx

The drive to Bobby's took five hours, five interminably long, uncomfortable hours squinting through the torrential rain with Sam trying to ignore a pounding headache and Dean producing a whole farmyard's worth of snorts, snuffles and croaks as he tried to sleep curled up against the Impala's passenger window, buried in Sam's massive fleece hoodie.

Sam glanced away from the road occasionally to keep watch on Dean as he gradually sunk lower and lower into the hoodie: his neck and chin had all but disappeared, and Sam was becoming increasingly nervous that if he continued subsiding at his current rate, he might simply slide off the seat and end up as a heap in the footwell.

It was with a long sigh of relief that Sam swung the Impala into the familiar and comforting environment of Bobby's yard.

He sat for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose and collecting his thoughts as he listened to the rain still pounding relentlessly on the Impala's sleek black bodywork, stirring Bobby's dusty yard into watery, grey mud.

His brief reverie was interrupted by a stuttering snore next to him.

Xxxxx

The brothers stood, shivering in the wet evening chill and leaning heavily into each other, as they huddled together under the porch waiting for their knock to be answered.

From behind the locked door, they heard the faintly familiar sounds of Rumsfeldt barking and an unfamiliar voice telling him to button it.

After just a moment, the door opened.

The woman that stood before them was of reasonable height: she couldn't have been described as short or tall, but somehow, just right. Wearing her short, dark blonde hair in a boyishly sassy and tousled crop, she briefly scanned the two figures from under long, dark lashes with big, sparkling green eyes which eventually settled appreciatively on Sam's face.

Her fresh, un-made-up face bore a healthy tawny sheen across attractively high cheekbones which fell just a little short of being tanned, and her whole face lit up as her soft naked lips curled into a welcoming smile at her visitors.

Stepping back, she gestured the brothers to come on in, as the two men stumbled over the threshold in from the downpour. Sam noticed her neat black T shirt clinging to her solid but slender body, tight enough to be flattering, but loose enough to be modest, the whole understated look was completed by a pair of faded jeans skimming her trim waist and a pair of pale blue Timberlands.

Sam couldn't believe his eyes.

Diana was the she-Dean …

xxxxx

"Wow, that rain's a bitch;" she commented cheerfully, thrusting a hand out towards her visitors; "Diana, Diana Dixon," she stated economically, "my Uncle told me you were coming; I'm happy to help."

The wet and bedraggled Winchesters, still leaning on each other for support reciprocated the warm welcome and shook the offered hand.

"I can see which side got the looks in your family," Dean croaked hoarsely.

Pushing the door closed, she turned to him with a grin and reached out to press the back of a hand against his face. "Oh hell, you're burning up, c'mon soldier, let's get you into bed."

Dean gave a droopy smile, and engaged in a long and protracted exercise in clearing his throat; "ain't y'gonna let me buy you dinner first?" he asked at the end of it all.

Sam had to hand it to his brother, even burning up with fever, dripping snot and sporting the lung capacity of a cadaver, he was still giving it his best shot.

She glanced at Sam who shrugged apologetically and laughed; "c'mon snotty, you can buy me dinner when you feel better." She took his arm to offer some extra support, "I reckon if you rocked up at a restaurant now, the health inspectors would close it down."

Reaching up again and as if to confirm her earlier diagnosis, she laid a cool palm across his forehead. His eyes drifted closed under her touch.

"Heck, Dean, I could sear a steak on there."

Together Sam and Diana helped Dean up the stairs and into the room that the Winchesters knew so well, decanting him on his usual bed.

"C'mon Sam," she urged, "let's get his clothes off."

"Woah, steady on sweetheart," Dean croaked, slowly shucking his overshirt; "only if you'll still respect me in the morning."

She turned again to Sam who grinned weakly as he folded the damp overshirt, before turning back to Dean, "my uncle warned me to expect a ladykiller with a cool line in cheesy pick-up lines."

She smiled, moving behind Dean and lifted the hem of his T shirt which clung wetly to his hot, clammy back.

"C'mon, off," she encouraged, helping Dean tug the damp garment off over his head.

"Dean's head emerged, from the sticky black cotton, his hair comically ruffled; "cheesy?" he looked round, mock outrage across his flushed face; "f-friggin' cheesy?"

He flinched as he suddenly realised her confident, busy hands were undoing his belt. "Hey, hey, lady; if you wanted to get your hands on the prize you only had to ask!"

Glancing down at Sam who was unlacing his brother's boots, she rolled her eyes before turning back to her patient; "I didn't like to, you were too busy nursing your bruised ego."

Sam dropped the boots to the floor and started to pull off Dean's socks. He stifled a snigger; it seemed his brother had finally met his match.

xxxxx

Working together, Sam and Diana managed to get Dean settled in the bed, despite the older Winchester's weary invitations for Diana to rub his chest or any other part of his anatomy that took her fancy. His overtures were abruptly cut off when Diana gently but firmly shoved a thermometer in his mouth.

Coaxing Dean to lay still and relax, Sam could clearly see that his brother was struggling to stay awake. Rubbing his forehead, he reflected with a stifled yawn that Dean wasn't the only one.

Taking the thermometer, Diana glanced at it and frowned; "Be right back," she announced to Sam, patting his shoulder and with that she headed off to the bathroom, returning later with a pair of cool wet facecloths; she folded one pressing it to Dean's burning forehead and laid the other flat across his chest. Under her gentle ministrations, Dean settled into a contented silence.

Sam at last allowed himself to relax and sunk into a chair beside the bed. He was happy his brother was in good hands: they were Bobby's hands, and they didn't get much better than that.

He turned heavy lidded eyes up to the face of the woman in front of him and yawned, raising his arms into a long stretch; "thanks Diana, really appreciate your help."

Closing his eyes, he felt a soft hand on his shoulder; "get some sleep Sam." The voice was gentle as confident hands helped him up out of the chair and guided him over to the other bed.

"you look like you need it."

xxxxx

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Sam's eyes snapped open as he awoke to the harsh sounds of breathless barking coughs from the other bed.

He slipped out of bed and tottered, still half-dopey with sleep, toward the other bed in the room, the one containing his brother.

Sliding a hand beneath Dean's warm, bare back, he gently hoisted him up into a sitting position, rubbing soothing circles as he did so.

"Hey man; take it easy, have a drink."

He held out a glass of water to Dean who took it with a shaking hand and helped him to guide the glass to his mouth. Taking untidy noisy mouthfuls of the water between harsh, gulping breaths, Dean eventually returned the glass to Sam and managed to speak.

"Sorry S'mmy … 'okay now … g'back to bed … y'need t'get some sleep."

Sam hesitated before taking the glass away from his brother and setting it on the nightstand.

"You sure you're okay now?"

Dean nodded, his breathing was calming and across his back, Sam could feel his heartbeat settling.

As he helped Dean to lay back down, there was a timid knock at the door; "everything okay in there?" A woman's voice sounded from behind the closed door.

"We're good thanks," Sam replied, "sorry to wake you."

"No problem."

The brothers heard light footsteps head back along the landing.

Dean glared up at his brother through the pre-dawn darkness.

"What'dy mean … 'we're good?'" he scolded, his voice gravelly with the strain of his coughing fit.

Sam looked at him in concern, "what, is there something wrong?"

"Something wrong? Yeah, there's something wrong!" Dean propped himself up on his elbow with effort and continued to glare at his perplexed brother.

"What?"

"There was a smokin' hot chick out there just begging to come in here and treat me to a thorough examination and you told her to go back to bed. Alone!" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Sam sighed in exasperated relief and pulled the blankets back up to his brother's shoulders.

"Go to sleep jerk."

xxxxx

Later that morning both brothers woke to the soft click of their door opening.

"Knock knock," said quiet, feminine voice.

Sam rolled over with a groan, and slowly sat up in the bed.

"I thought I'd treat you both to breakfast in bed," Diana smiled warmly across the room at Sam who quickly glanced down into his lap to make sure he was decent.

"That's really kind, you didn't have to do that," he replied awkwardly, realising he was blushing slightly.

"I know," she handed a plate of toast and raspberry jam from the tray she was carrying to Sam, affectionately patting his arm, "I was planning to come in here and check up on Dean and I didn't want you to feel all neglected."

Sam held her gaze for a moment as he took the toast, gratefully taking a massive bite. They both looked across to the room on hearing Dean begin to stir.

He peered out from under the bedclothes, blinking wetly against the harsh daylight.

"Uh?" was all he managed.

Diana set her tray down on the table beside Sam's bed and crouched down next to Dean.

"Hey, Tiger, how ya doin?"

Dean's weary eyes fluttered open and it took only a second for a pale imitation of his hundred megawatt 'ensnare-the-chicks' smile to appear.

"Good, well y-yeah … ok;" he replied barely above a whisper, stuttering through a suppressed coughing fit.

She cocked her head, never breaking his gaze, "and now the truth?"

"Okay, feel like crap."

She pressed a cool palm on his forehead, "you're still warm, but not cooking like you were yesterday, just simmering on a low heat now."

Sam would later swear that Dean looked vaguely disappointed.

"Bringing anything up?" She asked.

"What?"

"When you cough; any phlegm?" She asked bluntly.

Dean's nose wrinkled in disgust, "wow, you really know how to sweet-talk the guys!"

She grinned, "listen Dean, just be thankful it's only your chest that's playing up!"

Dean gagged, rolling his eyes; "No," he confirmed, "no friggin' phlegm."

"Doesn't sound like an infection then," Diana sounded satisfied, "but we should still keep a close eye on you."

Dean's smile stretched into a smirk; "… knew you'd find an excuse."

Diana grinned, "don't flatter yourself gorgeous; can you sit up?" She slid an arm behind his shoulders to help him.

Slowly easing himself up, Dean paused halfway. He groaned, grimacing dramatically with pain.

"You in pain dude?" Sam clambered out of his bed and hurried over to the side of Dean's bed.

"Yeah," Dean panted in response.

"Where's it hurt?"

"Mos'ly ribs ache," Dean replied, suppressing another cough and miserably clutching his side as he did so.

"I'm not surprised," Diana looked across at Sam, "I thought I might accidentally step on his lungs when I came in here this morning."

She pressed the back of a hand against Dean's forehead again. Sam watched as her brow furrowed in thought for a moment.

"Sam, can you fetch a couple of washcloths from the bathroom, please," she asked softly, rearranging the pillows behind Dean so he could lean against them.

Sam smiled in response, "sure thing Diana."

Picking up Dean's wrist, Diana pressed gently on the pulse point; "any pain other than the aching ribs."

"Only the pain in my heart from lookin' at you sweetheart!"

She turned and shouted through the door after Sam, "Sam, can you get me a bucket as well!"

Sam walked back into the room to see Dean pouting at the woman standing over him holding his wrist and handed her a damp washcloth.

"Bucket huh?" he grinned, "you losin' your touch bro'."

Dean snorted huffily as if the notion was completely outrageous.

Taking the opportunity while Dean was quiet, Diana pressed the washcloth to his forehead, smiling as 'his eyes drifted closed and he groaned softly under the cooling relief.

Taking the other washcloth, Sam sat the other side of the bed and carefully worked it across Dean's shoulders and chest. Diana watched in quiet admiration at how he worked caringly and gently, knowing his brother had absolute trust and faith in him.

It was in that moment that she realised how close these two brothers were and how much they relied on each other.

xxxxx

Without opening his eyes Dean mumbled "How you feelin' Sammy?"

"Better," Sam replied without pausing from his work, "just tired."

Dean's eyes suddenly flickered open, and both Sam and Diana could see the concern in them.

"Why you still tired?"

Sam grinned; "'cause someone kept me awake coughing all night."

Dean grumbled quietly; "bite me," he snorted as he shifted uncomfortably, his left arm hugging his aching ribs.

Watching his obvious discomfort, Diana rose to her feet; "back in a second," she called over her shoulder.

The brothers looked at each other; Sam shrugged.

Returning to the room only moments later, Diana held up a tube of muscle liniment.

"This should help with the aching ribs," she suggested, offering the tube of cream to Sam; "Sam do you want to …"

Dean chimed in, "No he doesn't." He grinned eagerly at Diana and lay back against the pillows, folding his arms behind his head with a pained wince.

"It's all yours, sweetheart; knock yourself out," he grinned with a wink.

Diana couldn't stop herself from laughing at the sheer cheek of the reclining figure before her. She removed the tube's lid and squeezed a generous amount of the cream into her hand; "I'll knock you out if you call me sweetheart one more time," she grinned, winking back at her patient.

Sam decided to head for the bathroom and make himself scarce as Diana leaned over, and began to work the soothing lotion firmly but gently into Dean's sore muscles. Her delicate hands sweeping over the planes of his chest, fingertips working thoroughly along the intercostals, guided by her patient's relaxed sighs until she was sure that the soothing heat was doing it's job, penetrating the deepest and stiffest layers of strained muscle.

Dean smiled droopily, "not bad, swee …"

His sleeping face was a picture of utter, sublime bliss.

xxxxx

Diana was wiping her hands on one of the discarded washcloths, and hadn't noticed Sam return to the room until he stood behind her looking over her shoulder at the inert figure in the bed.

"Wow, he never looks like that after I've patched him up!"

Xxxxx

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

Dean's eyes flickered open as the night's sleep began to recede and he rolled over, blinking blearily in the morning's grey daylight, vaguely aware of the distant hiss of the continuing rain

Craning his neck, he looked over his shoulder towards the other bed and saw nothing more than a motionless lump under the frayed burgundy comforter topped by a tangled mass of dark hair.

He yawned, the back of his hand rubbing the haze of sleep from his eyes, and arched into a lavish stretch.

It was the fifth morning after the 'flu had really taken hold of him, leaving him a wheezing, burning, snot-ridden mess and for the first time since then he finally felt better, much better. Well, great actually.

He scowled; crap!

This was so not fair. Finally, after years of exasperatingly dull hospital visits involving a whole load of nurses who bore a startling resemblance to a Kentucky Derby winner, he'd got the undivided attention of a gorgeous, sassy naughty nurse; one with 'real' magic fingers. A little tickle of bliss skittered down his spine and he shuddered at the thought of those skilful fingers at work.

Poor Sammy's well-meaning mutton-paws couldn't hope to compare.

Better still, here at Bobby's house she wasn't having to stick to the damn stupid boring rules and regulations that hospitals have to stop their nurses enjoying the hot patients and ignoring the ugly ones

He let out a long sigh; that'd be the first damn thing he'd change if he was in charge.

Friggin' sonofabitch, douchey, crappy Winchester Luck.

Why the hell couldn't it let him suffer just a few more days? Heck, that massage yesterday was better than every episode of Casa Erotica he'd ever seen combined. Whoever would have thought that muscle liniment could have been so frickin' kinkily awesome?

A miserable huff.

No! Balls to Winchester Luck. He was damn-well going to enjoy Diana's attentions for a couple more days.

With all the strife and crap he had dealt with through the course of his life saving countless hopeless saps, looking after Sammy, all the bruises and stabs and broken bones, he had earned the freakin' right to have this cute little babe climbing all over him for a while longer.

He glanced across at the burgundy lump in the bed beside him as it shifted and groaned, and as he ducked under the bedclothes his sulky pout stretched into a wicked smirk.

Sammy's waking up …

Show time.

xxxxx

Sam slowly rolled over, cringing as the bedsprings groaned under his weight. Conscious that he didn't want to wake Dean, his first thought was to check on Dean's condition.

Looking across to the bed containing his brother, he saw the comforter move as Dean fidgeted underneath it.

"Dean;" he whispered.

No response was forthcoming.

"Dean;" he leaned up on one elbow and raised his voice slightly.

A tousled head emerged slowly from under the blanket, blinking damply in the dim daylight.

"How y' doin' bro'?" He asked tentatively, not feeling optimistic, judging by the vacant, glassy squint aimed in his direction.

Dean swallowed thickly, lifting a shaky wrist to rub his brow. "Not so good," he croaked, following up with a lavishly wet sniff.

Sam's head dropped back onto the pillow as he gave a long sigh, "Jeez Dean, this damn flu's really brought you down this time."

Dean rolled over onto his belly, groaning with the effort; "frickin' sonofabitch 'flu," he mumbled miserably into his pillow.

"You still in pain?" Sam asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"Yeah, Dean sighed, propping himself up onto his elbows with a pained wince, coughing harshly, "don' worry; s'nothin'."

Sam frowned, "doesn't look like nothing."

"Back aches like a bitch," Dean croaked, letting loose another salvo of harsh, barking coughs, "an' head aches." He gave another lengthy snuffle.

Standing up, Sam pulled his arms over his head in a massive stretch; "I can't believe how this bastard thing's lingering … do you feel any better at all?"

"A bit," sighed Dean, making a mental note that he shouldn't worry Sammy too much; "breathin's easier now," he paused, "so I don't need no doctor," he added abruptly in case Sam went and got any stupid ideas in that direction.

Sam yawned, "Diana had better take another look at you," he replied, running a hand though his unruly fringe, "If she thinks you need a doctor, you'd better see one."

Dean lay back in the bed, closing his eyes; "don' wanna keep bothering her," he murmured unconvincingly into his chest.

Sam smiled; "don't lie, you're loving it!"

Dean's breath hitched, and his eyes snapped open. Had Sam rumbled him?

Sam patted Dean on the shoulder; "gonna hit the head, then I'll get you a coffee. Get some rest."

Dean let out a small snort of relief; obviously not.

He relaxed back into the bed and sighed, allowing a sly smile to spread across his face.

xxxxx

It was about an hour later that Diana strolled into the room with a steaming hot coffee and some toast, "Sam says you're still feeling a bit rough," she stated kindly, taking up his wrist and pressing into the pulse point.

"Have you been able to get up and about yet?"

Dean took a deep shuddering breath, "tried earlier but got dizzy," he croaked weakly.

"That'll be because you've been on your back for four days," Diana replied, seemly satisfied with his pulse.

Dean hid a faint smirk, "I wish …" he thought.

She laid a hand flat on his forehead, "well at least you're not so warm today."

Dean frowned, feeling his sympathy advantage slipping away; "still feel hot, though," he replied weakly, mind whirring as he pondered ways to reinforce his need for some heavy duty TLC.

She moved her hand down from his forehead to his cheek without breaking contact and shrugged; "you feel okay, but let's check anyway," she produced the thermometer and slipped it between his lips. Dean's eyes narrowed as he glanced at the nightstand and an idea blossomed in his mind.

Giving a theatrical sniff, Dean looked up at Diana, quietly asking if she could get some tissue from the bathroom for him.

Watching her disappear through the door, he removed the thermometer quick as a flash and dipped it in his hot coffee, rapidly slipping it back in his mouth as he heard Diana's quick footsteps along the landing. He swore under his breath as he realised it was the wrong way round, frantically making the fumbling adjustment a split second before she appeared back in the room.

He smiled his weary thanks as she passed him the tissue.

"Okay, lets see what we've got." Diana took the thermometer from his mouth and giving it a brief shake, she glanced at it.

"Shit!"

She looked up at Dean in dismay; "It's a hundred and twelve. You should be dead."

Dean cringed sheepishly; "uh ... it- um - probably don't work properly; some old bit of cheap crap of Bobby's," he croaked, giving an embarrassed grin.

Diana looked at the thermometer again; she had to admit he didn't look like someone who was burning up with a lethally high fever; she shrugged, placing the thermometer on the nightstand, "I'll try again in a minute."

"Sam said your back was aching."

Dean looked up at Diana with abject misery in his pleading eyes and manufactured a rattling cough from the depths of his chest; "yeah," he sighed breathlessly, following up with an expertly judged little wince.

Diana scraped her hair back off her face; "do you want me to see if I can loosen it up for you?"

Dean suppressed an urge to punch the air and took a deep shuddering breath; "if you don't mind …" he loosed a convincing coughing fit, following it up with a pained grimace, "I'm sure that will help, thank you."

Helping Dean to roll onto his front, Diana went to work with the soothing liniment, placing her hands on the broad shoulders in front of her and began to gently knead their muscular lines; her long nimble fingers working deep into the firm flesh soothing away the tension there.

Diana was puzzled, unsure that she could feel much in the way of strain or stiffness across Dean's back, but looking down at the tawny, sculpted landscape beneath her fingers, her eyes drifted down from the broad, muscular shoulders, following the faint ridges of his spine, and soft contours of his ribs down to slim hips disappearing beneath the faded burgundy comforter.

Okay, whatever; she was in no rush to finish the job.

Her patient seemed to dissolve deeper and deeper into the mattress as Diana's confident hands swept firmly up and down his spine, moving with the rhythmic rise and fall of his back, working across his shoulders in sweeping circular strokes, alternating between feather light and heavily firm.

She finished by gliding her thumb and forefinger up and down the back of his neck, circling the pressure point at his nape with the pad of her thumb.

"How you doin' there, Tiger?"

Her only response was a muffled incoherent groan which disappeared into the pillow.

She pulled the comforter up over Dean's back to maximise the effect of the heat that would be penetrating his muscles now and knelt down beside his head; "better?"

Dean nodded weakly and attempted to lift his head out of the pillow. Diana stifled a laugh at the heavy lidded eyes, glazed with paralysing bliss which looked up at her, drifting slightly cross-eyed as he blinked, attempting unsuccessfully to focus on her as she cheekily slipped the thermometer back into his mouth.

She timed a minute on her watch and withdrew the thermometer, visibly relieved by the reading. "ninety nine; now that's more like it!"

Dean smiled faintly in agreement, trying his best to hide his disappointment.

"Now, your brother's eating Bobby out of house and home," Diana chuckled, patting Dean's arm, "so we're going out to the store to get some groceries in. Will you be okay for a while on your own?" She asked, clearly concerned.

Dean nodded again, still seemingly without the power of coherent speech.

"Good," Diana squeezed his shoulder; "get some rest."

xxxxx

Diana and Sam busied themselves in the kitchen, putting away their shopping.

She held up a giant Hawaiian pizza, "c'mon Sam, I'll cook us some lunch, do you think Dean could manage a bit? It might tempt his appetite."

Sam didn't like to tell her that a well Dean could manage a whole one with room to spare.

"Sounds like a great plan," he smiled, "I'll get the beers."

Nodding her approval, Diana slipped the pizza into the oven.

"Hey Diana?"

She looked round to see Sam crouched in front of the refrigerator.

"I could have sworn there were a couple of bottles of beer in here;" Sam looked round at her, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Diana wiped her hands and joined him, leaning over to see inside the refrigerator, she rested her arm across his back.

She shrugged; "huh! you must have imagined it," and rummaged in the grocery bag, producing a collection of bottles; "good job we bought some more!"

xxxxx

Upstairs, Dean slipped the empty beer bottle under the bed to join a screwed-up empty chips packet, and leaned back against his pillow closing his eyes and patting his very full, beer-sated belly as he stifled a soft burp.

He inhaled deeply of the delicious aroma of cooking pizza, smiling at the sound of Sam's footsteps heading up the stairs carrying his share.

Yep, if only the friggin' flu was always this peachy.

xxxxx

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

Dean drowsed quietly in his bed; eyes closed, a soft smile playing across his lips.

Reluctantly, he knew that he was going to have to make a 'recovery' soon. He couldn't stretch this 'bedridden with the 'flu' thing out much longer - both Sam and Diana had started talking about seeing doctors and stupid unnecessary crap like that. In the meantime however, he was going to enjoy his last day of relaxation. His smile widened as he thought he might even be able to sweet-talk a sponge-bath out of Diana if he played his cards right.

He licked his lips, shuddering with pleasure at the thought.

Suddenly he heard the Impala's doors slam shut and the beautiful growl as her engine fired up, he snapped open an eye.

Slowly, quietly, he pushed back the bedclothes, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and tiptoed across the room to peer out of the window.

No Impala, and therefore, no Sam or Diana.

He allowed himself a broad grin.

xxxxx

Diana had informed him they were going out grocery shopping. Again! Jeez, heck how can two people do so much shopping, and take so friggin' long doing it?

He chuckled to himself as images of the two of them trying on dresses and discussing hair products crossed his mind.

But that was fine by him; they could take all the time they wanted.

Because while they were out indulging in a bit of retail therapy he could go downstairs and stock up on some proper chow; make up for all the grapes and oranges and chicken soup and other healthy shit that Diana was shoving down his neck.

He hopped into his sweatpants and trotted down the stairs.

As he headed toward the kitchen, he was accosted by Rumsfeldt who greeted him enthusiastically.

"Hey boy," he smiled, crouching down to tease the dog's ears, "good to see you buddy;" he ruffled Rumsfeldt's stocky shoulders, grinning as the joyful dog jumped up to lick his face, "hey - now don't you split on me," he smiled as he wrestled playfully with Rumsfeldt, "otherwise I'm gonna shave you bald and kick you out in the cold, understand?"

Rumsfeld wagged the stump of his tail wildly, seemingly unconcerned by Dean's threat.

xxxxx

Softly humming a tuneless rendition of Highway to Hell, Dean rooted enthusiastically through the pantry. Careful not to take enough to draw attention, he picked up a bag of chips, and a pack of cookies.

Turning his attention to the refrigerator, he carved off several thick slices of ham and piled it into some sandwiches, slapping on a thick layer of mustard.

With plate of sandwiches in one hand, pack of cookies in the other and bag of chips hanging between his teeth, he was about to head back upstairs when he suddenly heard a noise behind him and spun round.

xxxxx

Sam stared at the figure standing in front of him. Dean, in turn, stood in wide-eyed shock staring back at Sam, the bag of chips gripped between his teeth still swaying slightly from his sudden movement. Guilt was written plainly all over his face.

He opened his mouth to speak and the chips fell to the floor

"SAM!"

"Uh yeah …" Sam replied hesitantly; "I forgot my wallet - Diana dropped me off about half a mile away and she went on to the store."

Dean's eyes widened further, the expression on his face drifting from shock to horror; "you let her drive my baby?"

"She'll be fine, she's a great driver," Sam replied calmly. He folded his arms and stared levelly at his brother; "you look better."

"Yeah feelin' a bit better," Dean replied, trying and failing to work a breathy weakness into his voice.

Sam eyed Dean's feast, "so I see."

He looked down at the floor and shook his head with a mirthless laugh.

"You've been fine for a while, that's it isn't it?" He sighed, "all the aches and coughs and sneezes; it's all been an act; so that's where the missing beers went."

Smiling weakly, Dean shrugged, "well Sammy what can I say? A man can't live on chicken soup forever."

"But … why have you been pretendin' to be sick?"

Dean rolled his eyes; "c'mon Sammy, use your imagination."

Now it was Sam's eyes that widened in horror; "Diana? Please tell me you haven't been pretending to be ill just so that you can get Diana feelin' you up."

Dean grinned; "Got it in one, Sammy boy!"

Sam grimaced, "that's disgusting."

"Dean grinned; "Oh c'mon bro', lighten up;" his voice took on a defensive tone, "I've taken one for the team often enough in the crap that we have to deal with, I reckon I deserve a bit of down time with a lovely little hot and cold running nurse on tap."

Sam's face darkened with anger.

"You've been deceiving that woman just so you can get your perverted thrills?"

"Nothin' perverted about it," Dean countered; "she's human, hot and legal. Now if it were Rumsfeldt, that would …"

Sam glared. "You're an animal."

Dean shrugged nonchalently; "it's been said …"

"How could you?" Sam's voice took on a low, threatening tone.

Dean bristled in response, "Jeez, Sam what bug crawled up your ass and died? Haven't you ever seen a golden opportunity, and taken advantage of it?"

"No," Sam responded aggressively, "what you've been taking advantage of is a beautiful well-meaning young woman."

"Yeah, an' she's been loving it," Dean snapped back.

"Oh yeah?" Sam taunted, "well let's ask her when she gets back shall we?"

Dean's face dropped; "no, you can't tell her, dude!"

"Oh no, why not?"

"Well," Dean stammered helplessly, "she'll think I'm a total douchebag."

Sam folded his arms; "with good reason," he snorted furiously.

They both fell silent as the Impala pulled up outside.

Dean flushed with anger as he turned back to Sam; "Dude, I'm warnin' you, don't tell her," he jabbed his finger aggressively into Sam's chest.

"Give me one good reason why not?" Sam snapped.

Unable to formulate a valid argument, Dean resorted to plain fact; "because I'll friggin' pop you one," he hissed furiously.

xxxxx

The door opened and Diana walked in weighed down with grocery bags; "hey guys ... Dean; Good to see you up an' about," she smiled brightly at the two men.

"Yeah, feelin' much better thanks," Dean mumbled into his chest.

Sam ignored him, stepping towards Diana with a warm smile; "hey Di, let me help you with those," he took the shopping bags and carried them to the table.

"Di, huh?" Dean muttered sourly.

Diana walked towards Dean and stroked his cheek; "you are looking better," she commented softly, her face genuinely alight with pleasure; "you've got a bit of colour in your cheeks."

"Uh, well, I had a great nurse," he muttered with a sheepish grin.

Carrying the shopping bags, Sam barged past him heading toward the pantry; "I'm telling her," he whispered angrily as he passed.

Dean knew this fight was a lost cause. For whatever reason, Sam's high falutin' morals had been deeply offended and he was royally pissed.

He felt hot tears of frustration pricking his eyes as he turned away from Sam, and his tear-blurred vision fixed on his plate of sandwiches. The gnawing anger and regret in the pit of his stomach had chased away his appetite.

"I - uh - made you both some sandwiches;" he stated quietly; "thought you might be hungry when you got back," he pushed the plate towards Diana.

"Hey, thanks Dean," Diana replied brightly, eyeing the sandwiches. "I'm just gonna take Rumsfeldt out for a walk, and I'll have some when I get back," she looked over Dean's shoulder toward the pantry and raised her voice for Sam's benefit; "that's if Sam hasn't eaten them all by then."

"I'll try and control myself!" Sam's teasing voice drifted from the pantry.

She led Rumsfeldt through the door and turned back with a little wave; "see you soon!"

Dean stood In the kitchen, listening to Sam, stacking shelves in the pantry and pointedly ignoring him.

"I'm going outside for some fresh air," he sighed, talking to no-one in particular; "there's way too much atmosphere in here."

xxxxx

Trudging across Bobby's yard, he approached the Impala; "hey baby," he managed to muster a shaky smile, "at least you understand me."

Running a hand gently along her glossy bodywork, he opened the drivers door and slid into the seat, inhaling deeply of her familiar comforting scent.

He allowed his head to drop back onto her upholstered seat back, and took in a deep shaky breath, palming a stray tear from his cheek.

"It wasn't so bad was it? he asked himself and his baby; "I mean it wasn't like I came onto her or anythin'; she din't mind, she was lovin' it."

His hands caressed the steering wheel, "surely I deserve a little bit of TLC, don't I baby?"

He gave a long sigh, swallowing back salty tears.

Sam was such a sanctimonious bitch sometimes; he was so bristling with high principles and friggin' saintly morals, he didn't know how important it was to let go and have a good time occasionally.

It wasn't Dean's fault he came from the shallow end of the gene pool.

xxxxx

Then he saw it, as he sat in reflecting in sulky silence, a tiny flash of white in the rear view mirror.

Clambering onto his knees, he looked over the back of the seat, and saw for sure there was something white wedged down the back of the seat behind him.

He stepped out of the Impala and opened her back door, reaching down to extricate the little scrap of white fabric. White, silky fabric.

With a sharp tug, the trapped item came free, and his glum face stretched into a bemused smile as he stared at what he held in his hand.

A dainty pair of lacy panties …

Sammy boy, you sly fox!

xxxxx

Sam sat hunched at the kitchen table sipping his coffee when the door opened and Dean's head peered cautiously round it.

"Sam …" he called softly,

Sam looked up and his eyes narrowed angrily; "Dean, if this is just some lame attempt to try and justify yourself then forget it, I …"

Sam's words dribbled to silence as his eyes fixed on the panties Dean held up in front of him.

"What the hell …?"

"They were in the Impala." Dean's face twitched from the effort of trying not to grin. "Now, they're not mine, and unless you've developed some unusual sexual proclivities recently that I'm not aware of, then they're not yours; so I wonder whose they could be?" he pondered aloud.

Sam wilted.

"oh, shit!"

Dean cocked an eyebrow, thoroughly enjoying the sight of his brother squirming in front of him.

"It was on the way back from the grocery store," Sam muttered blankly, looking up at Dean.

"Wow, romantic," Dean observed with a knowing nod.

"We just got talking, and she was telling me about some loser that she used to go out with, and then I told her about Jess - well sort of - and she said I looked sad so she leaned over and gave me a kiss then I gave her a kiss, and then ...

Dean held up a hand; "yeah, yeah, I get the picture!" he interrupted sharply.

"That was the first time," Sam sighed.

Dean's mouth dropped open in gleeful surprise; "the FIRST time? No wonder you were takin' so long when you wen' out to the store."

"Yeah …" Sam groaned.

Dean folded his arms, shaking his head in disapproval; "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy; how can you take advantage of that beautiful, well meaning young woman?"

Sam bowed his head. "Because;" he hesitated before continuing, "because I like her – I like her a lot."

Remaining silent, Dean allowed him to continue.

"I know it's stupid, but that's why I was so pissed about you messin' with her." He cleared his throat as he laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation; "she's smart, she's kind, she's beautiful and I think if I hang around here much longer I might fall in love with her."

Dean smiled, "okay dude, well, enjoy yourself for a while," he sat down opposite Sam, "take your big brother's advice for once an' take advantage of a good situation." He hesitated in thought for a moment; "say, the weather forecast is good for tomorrow, take her up on some windswept hillside somewhere an' read her some poetry or whatever it is that you sensitive souls do."

Sam smiled sadly and shook his head, "no, now you're better, I want to leave tomorrow." Now it was his turn to blink back the tears; "the best thing I can do for her is get out of her life. Bobby wants to keep her away from the hunters life and all the dangerous crap that comes with it, and I'm with him 100% on that."

He looked up at Dean with sad puppydog eyes in full force. "I've been a complete dick, haven't I?" He sighed deeply; "I was mean to you and I'm so sorry bro'."

Dean smiled and squeezed his slumped shoulder, "nah, proud of ya, Sammy; you were only tryin' to protect the lady's honour."

There was a short silence between the two men.

"Although," Dean began hesitantly, "your fine example puts me in a difficult situation."

Sam looked up, "what?"

"Well, I should do the decent thing and tell her devoted uncle that someone's been banging his beloved niece in the back of the Impala."

Sam couldn't help but smile; "I know, know, I deserve this," he chuckled, nodding slowly.

Dean grinned; "don't worry, dude; I'll make sure I hide his bolt cutters first."

xxxxx

end


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